


Not In Time For You And Me

by jane_x80



Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, Child Death, Christmas Music, Holidays, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 15:17:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8850004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jane_x80/pseuds/jane_x80
Summary: It is Christmas Eve. Tony has had a rough week and ends up at a bar alone. There is a piano and a wager with the bartender.For Day 14 of the Happy Holiday Challenge on LJ





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is for [Day 14 of the Happy Holiday Challenge on LJ](http://ncis-discuss.livejournal.com/54808.html). The theme is "Holiday Music".
> 
> Please note that there is mention of deaths, including child deaths and mass shooting. Nothing graphic, but please be warned.
> 
> I built this story around this song: [Someday at Christmas Time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MaA7B9cu4kU) performed by Stevie Wonder and Andra Day which I find more depressing than hopeful. What can I say? I like sad songs. :D
> 
> I've also put links to the other Holiday Music I referenced in this little story in the end Notes.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy this!

The elevator dinged and vomited the weary Major Case Response Team into the huge orange room. They trudged to the bullpen and settled behind their desks.

Tony DiNozzo carelessly dropped his backpack and kicked it under his desk before he sat heavily in his chair. His shoulders slumped as he propped his chin up with a fist, elbow squarely on the desk, and he scrolled through his emails one-handed.

Ignoring his teammates’ chatter, he opened his half-filled report and began typing in the new details. The case they have been working on was quite traumatic. A Marine had believed that his wife had been cheating on him for years, believed that he was raising another man’s children. He’d gone on a rampage. He’d cut his unsuspecting best friend’s throat, the man he thought his wife was having a long-term affair with, the man who’d been his best man and godfather to his two children, and who he’d thought had actually been the father of his children. Then he’d raped and beaten his wife. And afterwards, he’d gone to the kids’ school and shot the children in his kids’ classes before he blew his own brains out. The casualties at the school had been monstrous: four teachers, two administrative staff and sixteen children, including both of the Marine’s children, all under the age of ten were dead. Many more had been injured.

Tony couldn’t even think of the numbers. Every time he blinked, he could see the bodies of the little children scattered in their bright and cheerful classrooms. The Marine had managed to wreak such a horrific toll on the last day of school before the kids were due to go on their winter break. It was ten days before Christmas.

The kick in the nuts? Abby had done preliminary blood tests and determined that there was no way that the Marine’s best friend could have been his children’s father.

In the next week, the MCRT worked with local police and the FBI to finish up the investigation. The Marine had killed his entire family. Abby confirmed that not only was the dead best friend not the children’s father, but the Marine was definitely the father of his own children. They could find no evidence of any extra-marital affairs. His wife had been faithful and loving by all accounts. By the end of the investigation it was determined that the Marine, who had only been home less than a month after being deployed to Afghanistan, had been suffering from PTSD, amongst other things, and had possibly been suffering from other mental diseases. Evidence pointed to the man having delusions and hallucinations that pointed him down this dark path.

Tony hated the case. Hated the images of dead children that haunted him every time he closed his eyes. He’d barely slept the entire week because of it. When Gibbs finally let them go, all reports written, case closed, unlike his teammates who scampered out as soon as they could, Tony lingered at his desk trying to decide what he was going to do.

“Go home, DiNozzo,” Gibbs’ voice made him jump.

Tony nodded. “Yeah. On my way.” Wearily he wound his scarf around his neck and shrugged his coat on. He packed things into his backpack – he couldn’t even say what he put in there, but he remembered putting things in it and zipping it up before he grabbed his gun and badge and walked slowly to the elevator. When he got in his car, he sat there, engine running, letting the interior of the car warm up. He didn’t really feel like going home. There was nothing there. He hadn’t been home much in the past week and besides, it wasn’t like someone was waiting for him at home.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly and ran his fingers through his hair. Maybe he needed a drink. Yeah. That might help.

He put the car in gear and left the parking lot. As he drove around he realized that not too many places were open – it was Christmas Eve. They had been working on this godawful case for so long that it hadn’t even occurred to him to care about the date. Well fuck. He didn’t have groceries at home and not many grocery stores were open by that time. It was late enough now that grocery stores, restaurants, and most importantly, liquor stores were closed. He really didn’t keep any alcohol at home, just the odd six pack or so. Too much temptation to turn into Senior, and there was no way he was going to turn into an alcoholic the way his old man had been. And still was.

Tony drove aimlessly for a while. What was the point of going home when all that was waiting for him was an empty fridge and a bunch of movies that was only going to leave him feeling empty and hollow? He craved human companionship.

Time to find a bar then. Get a drink or two, maybe hook up with a fellow depressed lonely person on Christmas eve. Man or woman, it wasn’t like Tony had a preference. But that was a secret he guarded jealously from everyone at work.

Were any bars even open on Christmas eve? Tony passed a bunch that were closed for the holidays. Flouting cell phone laws, he looked it up while he drove. And then, as he was scrolling through the options his phone presented, he looked up and saw an OPEN sign lit up in a quiet neighborhood. Parking was easy, since most everyone was home with someone, he guessed. He took his tie off and put his backpack in the trunk. Then locked up his car and walked into the bar.

A weary Federal Agent walks into a bar on Christmas Eve and sees a bartender, two fully costumed Santas, a hooker, a drug dealer and an accountant at the bar, Tony’s inner monologue couldn’t help but supply when he took in the room. It was like the beginning of a terrible joke.

Well. Whatever. There would at least be alcohol. Maybe Tony might have been in time to order a burger or something and won’t go hungry tonight. Not that he’s particularly hungry. He hasn’t been hungry since they worked the crime scenes at the school. All those little bodies. All that blood. All of it so pointless.

Tony sat at the farthest end of the bar, where he could keep an eye on all of the egresses except for the one that was probably right by the restrooms, tucked away out of sight. He ordered a scotch. They didn’t have MacAllan 18, but really, didn’t he just say he wasn’t going to turn into his father? He thought about ordering bourbon, but despite all the years of working and drinking with Gibbs, he really didn’t like the taste of bourbon. Say what you will about his old man, but the man knew what good alcohol was. No idea about what to do with a child, but good scotch, the man knew inside and out.

He must have been giving off a stay away from me vibe because not even the hooker tried to approach him. So much for human companionship. Alcohol it was, then, Tony decided. Three scotches in, he realized that in a dark alcove stood a scratched baby grand.

When the bartender brought his refill, Tony jerked his head towards the piano. “That thing in tune?” he asked.

The bartender nodded. “We have open mike nights weekly.”

“But not tonight.”

“No. Although I don’t think anyone will care if you want to play. So long as you don’t play any happy songs.”

Tony grinned. The bartender was cute. He had pretty blue eyes and a dusting of freckles on his nose and cheekbones. “No chance of happy songs tonight,” he assured the man. “Don’t let anyone tip me though,” he made a face.

“You think _this_ crew’s gonna shell out for anything but more cheap drinks?” the bartender quirked his head, smiling back. Damn. The bartender had a nice smile. “Besides, you’re assuming you’d be good enough to deserve a tip?”

Tony’s grin turned into a smile. “I guess you’ll just have to see,” he told the man, giving him an appreciative once-over.

“Tell you what. If you can make the guy who looks like an accountant cry with one of your songs, your next drink is on the house.”

Tony gave a surreptitious look at the guy that he’d also pegged as an accountant earlier and nodded. The man looked stoic. Like he’d girded his loins or whatever. He would be a challenge.

“If I make both Santas cry as well as the accountant, then three drinks on the house?” he countered.

“If you make both Santas and the accountant cry, I’ll take you home tonight and give you something else to think about,” the bartender winked.

Tony raised one eyebrow and smiled. “Deal,” he said slowly, putting his hand over the bartender’s, thumb gently caressing his wrist. He slipped cash onto the bar and took his glass to the piano.

Tony sat at the piano bench, moved it back a little until he was comfortable, fingered the keys idly, before he started playing. He warmed up with Debussy’s _Clair de Lune_. The bartender came over when the piece ended to check if he needed a refill. He leaned down.

“Classical, from memory,” the man whispered right in Tony’s ear. “I’m impressed.” The sibilant susurration caused delicious shivers to go down Tony’s spine.

Tony flicked an eye back to the bar. The accountant seemed to be studiously ignoring the music, but the Santas were listening. He still had work to do.

“You sing, too?” the bartender asked.

Tony shrugged. “Sure.”

The bartender grinned as he pulled the mike stand over and flipped some switches to turn the mike on. “Let’s hear it,” he whispered.

Tony gave him a wicked grin. It was on now. Tony began, playing and singing, pulling out sad songs from different genres. Billy Joel’s _And So It Goes_ , _Alone_ by Heart. He sang some Sinatra, making _My Way_ sound like the loneliest way to live. Some blues. He went backward and forwards in time and genre, even throwing in Edith Piaf’s _Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien_. The bartender made sure that his glass was topped up, and Tony lost himself in singing and playing, forgetting even about the wager. He used the music to release all the sorrow and hopelessness that the last case had caused.

Finally he started on Christmas songs. After he performed a mournful rendition of _Silent Night_ and _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_ by Sam Smith, the bartender came over, topped up his drink and gave him a sad smile.

“We close in an hour. You can come home with me then, and all your drinks are on the house,” he said.

Tony looked up in surprise, having completely forgotten about the bet, and really, everything else. The bartender flicked his eyes to the bar.

“Everyone’s crying now,” he said softly. “You outdid yourself. You can stop if you like.”

Tony turned to look at the bar and saw the accountant knuckling tears from his eyes. One of the Santas and the hooker were bawling into their drinks. The other Santa was brushing away tears. And the big surprise. The drug dealer was sobbing in the corner.

“Mind if I sing a little more?” he asked.

The bartender put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to be the one crying next, you know that. Last man standing now,” and Tony noticed that even the bartender was red-eyed.

Tony shook his head and snorted at himself. “Well. I may as well join the party,” he said quietly. The bartender brushed his lips on Tony’s cheek before moving away. Tony continued with _I’ll be Home for Christmas_ by Bing Crosby. Then Sara Bareilles’ _Love is Christmas_. And finally, _Someday at Christmas_ , by Stevie Wonder.

_Someday at Christmas men won't be boys_  
_Playing with bombs like kids play with toys_  
_One warm December our hearts will see_  
_A world where men are free_

_Someday at Christmas there'll be no wars_  
_When we have learned what Christmas is for_  
_When we have found what life's really worth_  
_There'll be peace on earth_

_Someday all our dreams will come to be_  
_Someday in a world where men are free_  
_Maybe not in time for you and me_  
_But someday at Christmastime_

_Someday at Christmas we'll see a Man_  
_No hungry children, no empty hand_  
_One happy morning people will share_  
_Our world where people care_

_Someday at Christmas there'll be no tears_  
_All men are equal and no men have fears_  
_One shining moment my heart ran away_  
_From our world today_

_Someday all our dreams will come to be_  
_Someday in a world where people are free_  
_Maybe not in time for you and me_  
_But someday at Christmastime_

_Someday at Christmas man will not fail_  
_Hate will be gone love will prevail_  
_Someday a new world that we can start_  
_With hope in every heart_

_Maybe not in time for you and me_  
_But someday at Christmastime_  
_Someday at Christmastime_

And the bartender was right. After that song, Tony sat quietly, tears running down his face. It was never in time for him. They hadn’t been in time for the kids at the school, or the Marine’s wife or his best friend. They’d failed the Marine himself, didn’t get him the help he’d obviously needed.

He’d joined law enforcement to help people, not to just pick up the pieces after the fact. But people were evil and cruel and crazy and insane and messed up. Maybe one day people would get their shit together, but it would surely not be in time for him. Because it would never be in time for him. It was already way too late for him. He sniffled, trying to stop his tears, before deciding that what the hell did it matter that a DiNozzo was crying if he was crying in a room full of crying people. He reached for his glass but a strong hand caught his wrist.

“That’s quite enough, DiNozzo,” a familiar gruff voice made him look up in shock.

“Boss?” he whispered. He shook himself, blinked and looked around, wondering if he was imagining things. “How drunk am I?” he mumbled.

“Not drunk enough, or too drunk, depending on how you look at it,” Gibbs’ expression was one of concern.

“Gonna go with not drunk enough then,” Tony smiled sadly at him. “Why the fuck do we do what we do? We’re never in time. Couldn’t stop the Gunny from the massacre of his friend, and family and all those fucking little kids? I mean seriously? Why the fuck is it never in time for you or for me?”

“DiNozzo…” Gibbs sighed. “It’s just a song.”

“Tell that to Gunnery Sergeant Wall. And his fucking kids. And his kids’ friends,” Tony swallowed a sob.

Gibbs sighed and kneaded the back of Tony’s neck. “C’mon. Time to go, DiNozzo.”

“Is everyone crying still?”

Gibbs nodded. “Even you,” his warm hand brushed Tony’s tears away gently.

“I win then.”

“What did you win?”

“Bartender’s going to take me home and hopefully he’ll fuck me stupid so I can forget this whole past week,” Tony smiled, turning towards the bartender. “If I got the accountant and the two Santas to cry, he was gonna take me home. If everyone’s crying then I definitely won.”

Gibbs shook his head. “You’re way too drunk to go home with a stranger if you’re telling me this without cringing.”

“I know my limits,” Tony objected.

“Yeah? Tell me the bartender’s name.”

Tony floundered. “I don’t think we introduced ourselves,” he finally said mutinously.

“Or you’re too drunk to remember it.”

“He’s cute,” Tony flashed a flirty look at the man. He had short brown hair, in his late thirties, he was about the same height as Tony was, broad shoulders made to look even broader in the tight black t-shirt he wore. “His eyes are blue. I like that. Makes me think of you,” Tony gave Gibbs a look that he could only describe as ogling.

Gibbs sighed, even as he fought down a blush. God. Tony was totally going to regret all of these words if he remembered it the next day. “Come on,” he pulled Tony up. “I’m gonna drive you home.”

“Nothing at home for me,” Tony said. “No food. No drinks. No one. Nothing. I’d rather go home with the bartender.”

“I’m taking you home with me, DiNozzo,” Gibbs said impatiently. “And you’ve had quite enough to drink tonight.”

Tony stumbled and Gibbs slipped an arm around his waist and placed the younger man’s over his shoulder.

“Let’s go,” Gibbs said quietly.

Tony meandered, pulling Gibbs over to the bartender who refused to take any more of his money. And before Gibbs knew it, the bartender was giving Tony a hug and a kiss on the lips and whispering something in his senior field agent’s ear that made him shiver and laugh. The bartender slipped a piece of paper into Tony’s coat pocket before Gibbs angrily dragged the younger man out, poured him into the Challenger and drove him home.

It was almost noon the next day before Tony dragged himself downstairs, heading straight for Gibbs’ coffee machine, pouring himself a cup and drinking it black in an effort to start to feel human again.

“Rough night?” Gibbs asked facetiously. He was seated at the kitchen table, remnants of a sandwich on a plate in front of him as well as a cup of coffee.

Tony mustered a bleary eyed glare. His hair was sticking up every which way, his face pale from throwing up copiously, and he had a headache the size of Alaska.

“Merry Christmas,” Gibbs told him.

“What’s merry about it?” Tony snorted.

“You remember much of last night?”

Even though he was paler than usual, Tony’s face paled so dramatically that Gibbs took his elbow and pushed him into a chair.

“I take it that’s a yes, then?”

Tony stared at Gibbs. “Did I tell you what the wager was?” he squeaked.

Gibbs nodded.

“Oh fuck,” Tony dropped his head on the table and covered it with his arms. “Goddammit.” After a moment he raised his head. “Do you want me to clear out my desk?”

That startled Gibbs who had been enjoying the sight of a completely disheveled, half-dressed DiNozzo collapsing on his kitchen table. He loved these glimpses into the real Tony DiNozzo.

“Why the fuck would I want that?” he asked angrily.

Tony shrugged. “Lots of people have issues working with you know…?”

Gibbs glared at him. “You think I give a shit whether you fuck men or women?”

Tony giggled hysterically. “I guess not, no.”

“Besides you said he was supposed to fuck you. Not the other way around.”

“Fuck,” Tony muttered softly, thunking his head down on the table again. “Wait, why were you there last night? Hot bartender couldn’t have called you, right?”

Gibbs just gave him a look.

“You _followed_ me there?” Tony gasped. “Why?”

“Was worried,” Gibbs muttered. “Had that look on your face. Made me think you were planning another Somalian expedition.”

Tony chuckled mirthlessly.

They sat in silence for a long time, nursing their coffees. Eventually Gibbs spoke again.

“You said the bartender’s eyes reminded you of me. What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tony groaned and buried his head under his arms again, as if expecting a bomb to go off. “Can we please pretend that never happened?” he croaked.

“You’ve come this far, might as well come clean the whole way, DiNozzo.”

Tony sighed. “It means exactly what you think it means,” he finally said.

“And what’s that?”

“I’ve always found you attractive, all right? I can’t help who I love!” Tony snapped angrily, eyes pricking with hot tears. “Are you happy now? _Now_ do you want me to clear out my desk?”

“No,” Gibbs said slowly.

“You’re just going to forget about this?”

“Nope.”

Tony moaned, his head hurting and now his heart hurting as well. “Can we please change the subject?” he begged.

Gibbs sighed and rubbed his face. “You know that last song you sang? Someday something?”

“Yeah. I know the song. I sang it,” Tony said irritably.

“There was a line – ‘ _Maybe not in time for you and me_ ’.”

Tony nodded.

“We might not have been in time for the Gunny, or a bunch of our other vics. But that’s not on us. We do our best, DiNozzo.”

“I know,” Tony blew out a breath. “I know that. Just some days it just feels like we just can’t win. Can’t catch a break. Someday may never come. Definitely not in time for you and me.”

“Maybe it was the perfect time for you and me,” Gibbs said softly.

Tony stared at him, green eyes confused. Gibbs leaned closer and put a gentle palm on Tony’s cheek. Infinitely slowly, giving Tony every chance to move away, the older man leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on Tony’s mouth. Tony’s eyes widened and he was so taken aback that he didn’t even kiss back. He sat, staring, watching as Gibbs’ eyes closed and Gibbs’ lips fluttered gently over his, his tongue barely sliding against his lips, the calloused hand still so gentle on his cheek, the expression soft and tender on Gibbs’ face, unlike anything Tony had ever seen before.

“I think it’s the perfect time for you and me,” Gibbs breathed before he kissed Tony again. And this time Tony kissed him back hungrily, not caring that he was hungover or that he had just brushed his teeth twelve times after throwing up and was still feeling like shit, not to mention that he had just kissed another man in front of Gibbs not twelve hours ago. Maybe they were still in time for Gibbs and him after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Here are links to the songs referenced in this story, for your listening pleasure. The main song is at the top of the list:
> 
> * [Someday at Christmas Time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MaA7B9cu4kU) (Stevie Wonder and Andra Day)  
> * [Clair de Lune](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LlvUepMa31o) (Claude Debussy)  
> * [And So It Goes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GJJS5ser3k0) (Billy Joel)  
> * [Alone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Cw1ng75KP0) (Heart)  
> * [My Way](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6E2hYDIFDIU) (Frank Sinatra)  
> * [Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zRCYEkA0_q8) (Edith Piaf)  
> * [Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rnEqv8WcVq8) (Sam Smith)  
> * [I'll Be Home for Christmas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EYOvd2PZoPU) (Bing Crosby)  
> * [Love is Christmas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PQdLF1QP_-A) (Sara Bareilles)
> 
>  
> 
> I know. Lots of songs. I'm going to say that I'm think I did OK with the "Holiday Song" theme? At least I hope so. I love the Stevie Wonder song. It makes me cry. And who can keep a dry eye through Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas?
> 
> Thanks again! :D
> 
> -j  
> xoxo


End file.
